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raw with love Apr 2014
не мога да твърдя със сигурност,
че това е било в твоята глава,
но те познавам достатъчно,
за да знам, че е така.

не искам свръх сили,
за да прочета мислите ти,
но не ме боли по - малко,
знаейки какво си изпитвал,
преструвайки се, че знача нещо за теб.

може би не особено точно,
но ето възстановка
на мислите в главата на С.:

рано сутринта, след първия час:
"ох пак ли сложи си усмивка на лицето седни до нея дай й целувка давай не е толкова трудно да се преструваш не може ли просто да си чете книгата и да не се нуждае от твоето присъствие смей се на тъпите й шеги слушай тъпото й оплакване от майка й от учителките й от съучениците й от света от нея самата от някой филм от някоя книга престори се че има някакво значение вметни някоя успокоителна дума дай гуш дай цун ох по - добре да съм при съучениците си как не искам да съм тук и да правя това прегърни я целувка по бузката смей се смей се СМЕЙ СЕ фалива усмивка фалшива целувка ох звънец хайде чао ще се видим днес"

в някой момент към обяд, във фейсбук:
"престори се че ти пука пиши й питай я как е поддържай разговор дръж се естествено всичко е наред преструвай се че ти пука смей се смей се ОХ ОТИВАМ ДА ОБЯДВАМ за малко без нея момент свобода поеми си въздух и след малко пак как си какво правиш преструвай се че ти пука задавай въпроси прати тъпи картинки и клипчета какво ще правим днес изтегли ли филма добре че са филмите аз ставам до после"

следобед:
"усмихвай се прегръщай я целувай я гледай филма смей се спуунинг гуш целувка не е трудно преструвай се дали да се възползвам от тялото й щом така ми го предлага хайде да/хайде не поиграй си на телефона ох тая пак се цупи иви не се цупи айде пак обвинения ама тя е права ох тя спира ли изобщо да реве иви стига още малко лъжи още МНОГО ЛЪЖИ йей тръгвам си"

вечер:
"ох пак трябва да й пиша как си правих това и това отивам да вечерям мама сяда тук съм как си кажи нещо преструвай се скандал пак скандал тая лудата пак иска да се реже толкова е нестабилна как да й кажа не изпитвам нищо към нея не я искам махни се ще гледам филм/клипче/ще цъкам игра лека нощ последна целувка"

и утре пак.
raw with love Apr 2014
скитаме из
пустите улици,
полу-изгубени,
но открили себе си
ръка за ръка,
и луната
със своя полунощен,
блед и леко изнурен
лик
осветява лицата ни
и пръстите ни
неразделно преплетени
и не мисля,
не мисля за нищо;
а нощта е
непохватни целувки
и отекващи стъпки,
и смеха ни,
кънтящ в нищото,
и приключения на
върха на езика ми,
и надежда,
и ти.

скитам из
пустите улици,
напълно изгубена
без ръката ти в
моята,
и луната
със своя полунощен,
блед и леко изнурен
лик,
някак иронично-подигравателен
осветява тротоара,
болезнено празен
без теб до мен
и призракът на пръстите,
някога преплетени с моите,
е ледено студен
и ужасяващо истински,
и болезнено-сладко-горчив
в своята безплътност,
и не мисля.
не мисля за нищо;
а нощта е
тишина,
а въздухът е празен
с някогашен
полу-забравен смях,
и отекващи стъпки,
но само моите този път,
и щастие, превърнато
в пепел на върха
на езика ми,
и надеждата вече я няма,
май ти ми я взе,
е, май съм
*с а м а
raw with love Apr 2014
I'm undone.
I'm scattered.
Do me.
Do me like a drug.
Abuse me and
unscatter
the dust
I have become.
raw with love Apr 2014
you left behind plane tickets
in my wallet
because when we were on
that plane
we were one
and like a wife
I kept your belongings.
you left behind train tickets
all over my room
in my purse
and in cupboards
to awake memories
whenever I find them.
you left behind
a Walkman,
a pair of earphones.
a bracelet.
a book.
gifts from your mum.
a bunch of photos.

I left behind
pieces of paper
with my heart
laid out on them
naked and
entirely yours.
I left behind
a watch.
a bracelet.
My scent on your
red sweater.
A bunch of photos.

I wonder if you deleted
all our pictures.
I wonder if you threw
away my letters
like you deleted me
like you threw my
love away.
raw with love Nov 2015
(Yes, better than Harry Potter, get your pitchforks ready)

My first encounter with THG was approximately four years ago, when I had barely turned fourteen, did not consider myself bilingual and was romantically frustrated. Naturally, I made several mistakes at the time. First off, I read the series in translation, since I'm not a native English speaker, and missed out a huge chunk of the significance of the story. Then, as I said, I was romantically frustrated and thus paid such a monstrous amount of attention to the romance aspect of the story that I want to bitchslap myself. Finally, at fourteen, I was still ignorant and uneducated about so many things that I read the series, got hyped for perhaps six months or so, then forgot all about it, save for the occasional rewatch of the movies. In retrospect, this is probably one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. Now, at the ripe old age of eighteen, a significantly better-read person, waaay more woke, as well as socially aware, I decided to finally read the series in the original and am finally able to put my thoughts together in a coherent, educated review of the series.

The Hunger Games has continuously been compared to a number of other books and series, occasionally put down as inferior and forgettable. In those past few years I managed to read a great part of the newly established young adult dystopian genre and am able to argue that A. The Hunger Games is undoubtedly universal and unrestricted to young adult audiences and that B. it is, without the slightest shade of uncertainty, the best series written in our generation.

While many people draw parallels between The Hunger Games and, say, Battle Royale, the similarities end with the first book, which, while spectacular in execution, seems unoriginal in its very idea. As the series unrolls, however, it is hardly possible to compare it to anything, save for, perhaps, Orwell's 1984. The social depiction and the severe criticism laid down in the very basis of the story are so brutally honest that it fails my understanding how the series was ever allowed to become this popular. What starts out as a story about a nightmarish post-Apocalyptic world works up to be revealed as a cleverly veiled portrayal of our own morally degraded and dilapidated society (if you're looking for proof, seek no further: as the series was turned into several blockbuster movies, public interest was primarily concerned with the supposed love triangle rather than the bitter truths concealed in the narrative). Class segregation, media manipulation, dysfunctional governments are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the realities that The Hunger Games so adroitly mimics. If I were to dissect, chapter by chapter, all three books, I'd probably find myself stiff with terror at the accuracy of the societal portrait drawn by Collins. I strongly advise those of you who haven't read the series between the lines to immediately do so because no matter how many attempts I make to point it out to you, you simply have to read the series with an alert sense of social justice to realize that it doesn't simply ring true, it shakes the ground with rock concert amplifiers true.

Other than the plot that unfolds into a civil war by the third book (the series deals so amazingly with trauma survival and with depicting the atrocities of war that I am still haunted by certain images), the characters of the story are what makes it all the more realistic. Though Hollywood has done a stunningly good job in masking the shocking reality of the fact that these are children - aged twelve through eighteen, innocent casualties paying for the adults' mistakes; children forced into prostitution, fake relationships, children forced into maneuvering through a world of corruption, media brain-washing and propaganda.

Consider Katniss. She is a person of color (olive-skinned, black-haired, gray -eyed, fight me if you will but she is not a white person), disabled (partially deaf, PTSD-sufferer, malnourished), falling somewhere in the gray spectrum both sexually and romantically. As far as representation goes, Katniss is one of the most diverse characters in literature, period. Consider Peeta, his prosthetic leg (which, together with Katniss's deafness, has been conveniently left out of the movies) and his mental trauma in the third book. Consider Annie's mental disability. Consider Beetie in his wheelchair. Consider all the people of color, as well as the fact that people in the Capitol seem to have neglected all sorts of gender stereotypes (e.g. all the men are wearing makeup). There is absolutely no doubt that the series is the most diverse piece of literature out there. Consider this: the typical roles are reversed and Peeta is the damsel in distress whereas Katniss does all the saving.

Furthermore, the alarming lack of religion (in a brutal society reliant on the slaughter of children God serves no purpose), as well as several other factors, such as the undisputed position of authority of President Snow, is suspiciously reminiscent of the already familiar model of a totalitarian society.

The Hunger Games, in other words, is revolutionary in its message, in its diversity, in the execution of its idea, in its universality. I mentioned Harry Potter in the subtitle. While this other series has played a vital role in the shaping of my character, it has gradually receded to the back line for several reasons, one of which is how problematic it actually is. This, though, is a problem for another day. (The Hunger Games is virtually unproblematic and while it may be argued that the LGBTQ society is underrepresented, a momentary counterargument is that *** has a role too insignificant in the general picture of the story to be necessary to be delved into this supposed problem). Where I was going with this is that, at the end of the day, Harry Potter, while largely enjoyed by adults and children alike, is a children's book and contains a moral code for children, it was devised to serve as a moral compass for the generation it was to bring up. The Hunger Games, on the other hand, requires you to already have a moral compass installed in order to understand its message. It is, as I already said, a straightforward critique of a dysfunctional society, aimed at those aware and intelligent enough to pick on it.

As for its aesthetic qualities, the series is written, ominously, in the present tense, tersely and concisely, yet at the same time in a particularly detailed and eloquent manner. It lacks the pretentious prose to which I am usually drawn, yet captivates precisely with the simplicity of its wording, which I believe is a deliberate choice, made so as to anchor the story to the mundane reality of the actual world that surrounds us.

That being said, I would like to sum up that The Hunger Games is, to my mind, perhaps the most successful portrayal of the world nowadays, a book series that should be read with an open mind and a keen sense of social awareness.
raw with love Apr 2014
If I walked up to you and
asked if you were happy
and you said no
and I asked you
what would make you happy
again
would you reply
us?

but I guess
shooting stars were made
for better wishes
than the fixing
of my shattered
heart.
raw with love Feb 2015
the clock is ticking off  one painful thousandth of a second at a time
i feel like alice chasing the rabbit
except you are the hole i'm falling through
if only time could stop
if only i could drop
the needle that you are
my drug
if only indulging
in hallucinogenic substances
would make it stop
the pain of you
the pain that's you
if only i could drop
the clock
and break it.
stupid alice, it's not a rabbit you're chasing
it's a maggot
and it's eating you
i
n
s
i
d
e
out
raw with love Sep 2013
staring at the blank page
words whirling
words spinning
words crashing
words like a hurricane
in my head
              
i am crying
i am laughing
i am smiling
i am sad
upset
broken
i am feeling

I'm a writer

thoughts tumbling
thoughts pouring
thoughts thoughts thoughts
thousands of them
pressuring me
crashing my bones
thoughts inside my head

staring at the keyboard
words pouring
but fingers not typing
a blizzard of words
and thoughts
and ideas in my mind

but the page empty
like the canvas of a
dead painter
like a corpse
in a grave
empty
with thoughts and dreams and words
stillborn

lost and broken
how do i go on
how do i write
when my mind is a mess
and the pages are blank
like my shattered heart

my blood is ink
still in my veins

and my soul
is the ghost of words
unwritten
and thoughts
unspoken

i'm  a bird
wingless
I'm a bird
in a cage

my imagination
in chains
stumbling
and crawling

where is
the hand
i need
where is
the one to
help me
get on my feet

caffeine pumping
through my blood
its effect
forcing words out
they're drowning
and trying to clutch              
at straws

and i struggle
to stay awake
at three a.m.
my eyelids heavy
with despair
with dying inspiration
with tiredness

with characters
born and murdered
at the tips of my
fingers                        
and my sleepy breath      
and drowned yawns
and muffled curses  
and dried tears upon my cheeks

i need to
fill the page
with ink
and heart
and tears
and smiles
and laughter
and kisses
and fingers tangled
and bodies cuddled
and sunlit faces
and love
and broken
souls
broken hearts      
i need to
fill the blank page
with life
and death
and me
raw with love Mar 2015
everyone i've written about
has left me.
so you must understand
why i will not immortalize you
with my words,
why i won't turn you
into a poem.

maybe this way
you'll stay.
you
raw with love Mar 2014
you
you're my vanilla
you're my caffeine
you're my sweet fragrance
you're all i need

you taste like chocolate
you feel like silk
you're like cashmere
pressed to my skin

you're cream and sugar
you're pepper and salt
you are my sweetness
you are my boat

you are my books
and you are the films
i watch at midnight
you're under my skin
you are my light
and you're all i need
raw with love May 2014
i want to scream
"come back to me"
until i have no lungs
to breathe
raw with love Mar 2014
i'm a biologist
but i have no idea why
you hurt so much
you're just a muscle
just a pump
just tissue
connected with veins
and arteries
you're just
a bunch of cells
forced to hold on
together
by the laws of nature

you're so useless
just stop hurting already
i can't find a scientific
explanation
and it drives me
round the bend

so

just

stop

hurting

already.
raw with love Apr 2014
дали сме просто в скоби,
или пред нас стои
самотна запетайка,
дали сложихме тире -
или тихата войнишка
удивителна,
или пък хлъзгав и
извит като котешка
опашка въпросителен
знак?
бих избрала точка - запетая;
но може би от теб и мен,
от нас,
остана просто малка
и незабележима точка.

*(а ще ми се да беше
недовършеното многоточие... )

— The End —